


Daisy

by delicatelyglitterywriter



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Angst, Blackmail, Bobbi Morse - Mentioned - Freeform, Bus Kids - Freeform, Fluff, Grant Ward - Mentioned, Kidnapping, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatelyglitterywriter/pseuds/delicatelyglitterywriter
Summary: All he wanted to find was the blue stapler. Not another woman tied up in the garage.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentcalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcalliope/gifts).



“Hey, Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you please go grab the blue stapler from the garage?”

Fitz rounds the corner to find Jemma neck-deep in crafts. There’s glitter and paper all over the table, as well on the floor. He raises his eyebrows at her - doing craft is a very un-Jemma thing to do.

“...do I want to know?”

“I’m making cards, silly!” she says, offering him a grin. “Now, would you please be a good husband and go get me the blue stapler.”

“Okay, one,” Fitz begins, holding up a finger. “Why aren’t you just using craft glue?”

“Empty,” she replies, not looking up.

“And two,” Fitz continues, satisfied with her answer. “What’s wrong with the black one right there?”

He motions to their black stapler sitting well within arm’s reach of Jemma. She shrugs and gives him a somewhat sheepish grin.

“It’s broken.”

“Again?” Fitz sighs, running his hands over his face, but heading towards the garage anyway. “You’ve really got to learn to take better care of the staplers!”

“Noted!”

He enters the garage, allowing himself a little chuckle. His wife can be so clumsy sometimes. Although he’s beginning to think the staplers are breaking on purpose - that’s the fifth stapler she’s broken in the past six months.

Fitz stops dead in his tracks when he sees a woman in the garage. She’s got short brown hair and darker skin, and she’s tied securely to one of the chairs they use when they have guests over. She has a line of dry blood down the right side of her face. She looks up when he stops in front of her. Her dark brown eyes look scared and weary, as if she’s been here a while. She doesn’t say anything, though; the tape over her mouth makes that impossible.

He stands in a stunned silence for a moment before doing the only logical thing he can think to do: call his wife in for an explanation.

“Jemma?”

“Yes?”

“Why is there a woman tied up in our garage?” There’s a pause in which he hears her push her chair back and potter out to join him. She sticks her head in and glances at the woman and shrugs.

“She was sticking her nose in places it didn’t belong.”

“And you thought kidnapping her was the answer?”

“Well, she _did_ break into the house, and we are kind of criminals…”

Okay, that was a fair point, Fitz thinks. He shrugs and walks past the woman to the craft tub and digs through for the blue stapler.

“So, does she have a name?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t said a word since she, um, regained consciousness.”

Fitz turns around, eyebrows raised as high as they could go. “You hit her that hard?”

Jemma shrugs again. “I guess I underestimated my swing, and staplers _are_ quite hard…”

“So _that’s_ why the stapler’s broken?”

“...yes.”

Fitz can’t help but throw back his head and let out a loud laugh. “Is this how all the other staplers have broken?”

“Kind of. Two of them were from killing spiders, one was from killing a cockroach, and the other from killing a bee.”

“You do realise that we have shoes for killing bugs?” Fitz points out, still highly amused by the situation.

“The stapler has always been the closest thing to me!” Jemma protests, stepping fully into the garage. Fitz laughs again.

“Guess we’re going to have to have a No Staplers As Whacking Devices Rule,” he suggests playfully. Jemma hits his arm lightly, snatching the blue stapler off him.

“I’m not _that_ bad!”

“Well, you _are_ a criminal…”

“Oh, shut up, you!” she retorts, although her voice suggests playfulness, and she starts leaving the garage. He glances again at the woman.

“Hey, um, Jemma,” Fitz says, his tone turning serious. Jemma turns around. “It’s kind of unlike you to not treat someone’s wound.”

He taps his head for emphasis and jerks his head towards their prisoner. Jemma nods, pulling her lips into a tight line.

“I tried, believe me. But she attacked me the moment I touched her.”

Fitz chuckles. “Well, you _did_ hit her with a stapler. I don’t blame her for being cautious about you touching her.”

“Oh, you’re awful!” Jemma says crossly, scrunching up and tossing a nearby piece of paper at him, although she only sounded half serious.

“I love you, too!” he calls after her, grinning. He then turns to the woman in the chair. Perhaps he’ll have better luck patching her up. He grabs the first aid kit and then kneels beside her. He reaches for her tape, but she pulls back, and he immediately stops.

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises. I just want to patch you up.”

She eyes him closely, as if deciding whether or not she can trust him. He waits patiently for her to make her decision, which turns out to be a yes. He carefully reaches up against and gently pries the tape away from her mouth.

“What’s your name?” he asks, going for the first aid kit.

“You first,” she answers.

“Leopold Fitz,” he tells her without hesitation. He carefully wipes down her wound, muttering a small apology when she winces. “But everyone calls me Fitz.”

“Wait, Fitz, as in, the Fitz part of Fitzsimmons?”

“You’ve heard of me, I see.” He cracks a small smile and presses down to stop the fresh blood that’s decided to trickle down after the wipe down. The woman grimaces in pain, and he offers another apology.

“Everyone from here to Argentina has heard of you,” she says. “You guys are like, the world’s most infamous criminals.”

“That’s quite high praise,” Fitz says, managing to stop the bleeding pretty quickly. “So, you never told me your name.”

She hesitates before answering. “I’m Daisy.”

“That’s quite a pretty name,” he murmurs thoughtfully, placing a bandaid on her wound. “So, tell me, Daisy, what brought you to our house?”

Daisy goes quiet instantly, averting her gaze. Fitz pulls his lips into a tight line, immediately picking up on the reason she’s here.

“It’s Grant Ward, isn’t it?” he asks softly, turning his gaze away to the First Aid Kit, but he still sees Daisy’s head snap back.

“How did you-”

“He’s been after us for years,” Fitz admits, snapping the Kit shut. “He’s sent dozens of innocent people after us because he’s not smart enough to get to us himself,” Fitz’s voice drops to barely above a whisper, “who did he grab?”

“My sister,” she whispers. It’s just barely audible, and the comment feels like a shot right through the stomach for Fitz. He feels bad for her, he really does. She did nothing to deserve this; none of Ward’s victims did.

He quickly finds himself resting a hand on her arm in comfort. She seems to appreciate the gesture, although is fighting to hold back tears. Fitz doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t know what to say. So they stay there in silence for what feels like hours. Daisy is the first to break the silence.

“You’re not what they say you’re like.”

“What do they say I’m like?”

“They say you guys are cold hearted,” she tells him. “Ruthless, sadistic killers. But you’re not like that at all. Why?”

“Too many cold-hearted, ruthless, sadistic killers already,” Fitz says. “Gotta have some good criminals in the world.”

His comment elicits a small laugh from Daisy. “That’s gotta be the biggest contradiction I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agrees with a small smile. “It is a bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?”

He pauses, and when Daisy doesn’t answer, he continues. “What’s your sister’s name?”

“Why?”

“Someone’s gotta put a stop to Ward’s blackmailing,” Fitz states, his determination seeping into his words. Daisy looks at him in the eye for the first time since he came in.

“Really?” Fitz nods, “Her name is Bobbi. Bobbi Morse. Well, actually, it’s Barbara, but she hates that, so everyone calls her Bobbi.”

“Got it. Well, Daisy, I can’t let you go, because then Ward will see and he’ll kill Bobbi when he realises you didn’t get what he wanted. But I can offer accommodation until Jemma and I can get Bobbi back for you.”

“Really?” Daisy looks tentatively hopeful, as if she fears he’s just playing with her. He nods solemnly. She allows a small smile. “I think I’d like that.”

Fitz grins and pulls out his knife and cuts Daisy free. He helps her up and walks her inside. Jemma offers her a small wave as they walk past.

“Sorry about the stapler,” Jemma apologises. Daisy nods quickly gripping Fitz a little tighter, still a bit afraid of the woman. Fitz gives his wife a reassuring nod and she goes back to doing craft, and Fitz leads Daisy up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

“The bathroom’s right there, you can brush your teeth in there, there are spare brushes in the cupboard, and there are pyjamas and clothes in the drawers,” Fitz says, pointing at all the places he mentioned. Daisy nodded and smiled gratefully.

“Thank you, Fitz.”

“It’s alright,” he smiles softly at her. “If you need anything, just come and get us.”


End file.
